


Date with Destiny

by dotchan



Category: Chrono Trigger
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 17:18:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 7,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8410048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dotchan/pseuds/dotchan
Summary: Brief vignettes speculating on how the stage was set for an adventure spanning over two thousand years.





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A problem is noticed, and a plan to rectify set in motion.

**Prologue: The Beginning of the End**

* * *

We are one, and yet We are three.

We are the Spinner. We are the maiden. We take the thin, wispy Aether and draw them into Threads.

We are the Weaver. We are the woman. We take the Threads and weave them into the Tapestry.

We are the Shearer. We are the crone. We trim the Tapestry so that conforms to the Patterns.

We sit at the Loom, making and unmaking in an endless Cycle.

Spinner pauses. Sisters, We have a problem.

Weaver runs a hand over the Tapestry. Yes, We have noticed.

Shearer scowls. We have a _Worm_ in the Tapestry.

The _Worm_. It always arrives to nibble on the Tapestry’s edges. Soon it grows fat and greedy, and consumes more and more until the Tapestry begins to unravel.

Spinner pulls another Thread from the Spindle. This must be stopped.

Weaver wraps the Thread around the Shuttle. The _Worm_ must be slain.

Shearer trims the Thread. But how?

We consider the Tapestry before us. The _Worm_ has already finished with one world and is sending its Eggs to more and more places.

Spinner points to the newest world, still at the very dawn of creation. How about this place?

Weaver considers. It has potential, but it will need guidance.

Shearer nods. We will send the Key.

We must hurry, and act in secret. We must pretend to let the _Worm_ have its way, so it suspects nothing. It pains us to bring evil and suffering to a world full of light and joy, but we must, if the _Worm_ is to be destroyed once and for all.

We work in unison, as we always have. Soon, everything is ready.

Spinner pricks our finger on the Spindle and stains it with our Blood. We, the Spinner.

Weaver wipes our eyes on the Shuttle and wets it with our Tears. We, the Weaver.

Shearer presses the blade to our chest and soaks it with our Sweat. We, the Shearer.

We three, yet one, bind our souls in the solemnest of vows. To protect the Tapestry. To kill those who threaten it.

To succeed at all costs.

* * *

_Unnecessarily Long and Tiresome Authoress’ Notes:_

This is sort of a prelude to the events proper of _Chrono Trigger_ , speculating on some of the characters’ motives and backstories. I originally wanted to draw this as a comic, but since I’m not confident enough in my artistic abilities, I’m writing down my ideas first.

(I had written this particular part before playing _Crono Cross_ , so the parallels with that game are due to the fact that it also draws from Norse/Greek mythology.)


	2. I. 65 Million B.C.: Signs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unto a remote village a child is born...and so is her twin brother, a sure omen of impending disaster.

Chief peered at the rising Sun and frowned. _Color of blood. Bad sign._

“Chief!” First Warrior shouted from the bottom of the hill. “Your woman have child!”

“Male or female?” Chief shouted back, then turned to look at the Fire Mountain. It was still quiet today, so far.

“Female!” First Warrior put a hand to his ear and listened to the distant voice of the Guru. “And male! Two births!”

Chief frowned deeper. _Two births? Worse sign._

***

Chief stepped into the tent and greeted a sad-faced Guru. “Blessings of the Earth. First Warrior told me the news.”

“Blessings of the Earth,” Guru replied. “How is the sun today?”

“Color of blood, but Firey Mountain sleeps well.” Chief approached his Woman. “Have you said your goodbyes?”

She nodded, her face strong. The Chief knew that she would cry tonight, hating him for taking her children away from her, but for now the safety of the Village mattered more.

***

Chief climbed the Hill of Bones with the children in his arms. He found a small hole in the ground and set them into it. He stood and faced the East.

“Great Mother Earth,” he prayed, raising his hands. “You have given us the Sign of the Bloody Sun and the Sign of the Two Births. As Chief of the Village, I know what I must do.”

He bowed, staining his palms with the Essence of the Earth. He marked the children on their foreheads.

“You are my heirs. Be strong and live. I will wait for you here at the end of each Thaw. When we meet, I will again claim you as my own.”

He returned to the Village without looking back.

***

Chief climbed the Hill of Bones, breathing hard. Many thaws had come and gone. He had been present at each one, but found nothing. His Woman had not wanted him to come on the journey this time, but he had given his word.

The male child was dead long ago. Chief knew so by the Sign of the Ravens. But the female child still lived – her Star shone bright, as red as the Sun on the morning she was born.

He neared the top, stopping to lean against his walking stick. _My woman was right. I am old, and the Symbol-Maker should become Chief in my place._ He shielded his eyes against the light. _But ah, Great Mother Earth, have pity on this father. If only once, let me see her with my own eyes._

There! In the distance! He looked as hard as he can, praying to the Great Goddess to help him.

It was her. She had her mother’s hair and his eyes. Clad in the furs of the Wolf, she ran like the Wind.

And then, she was gone. Chief let go of his walking stick and fell. He looked up into the sky. Such a beautiful blue sky.

“I finally found you—Ayla.”

* * *

_Unnecessarily Long and Tiresome Authoress’ Notes:_  
In “reality”, the ancient peoples’ vocabulary and grammar would probably be entirely alien, but I was too lazy to make anything up.


	3. II. 12,000 B.C.: Beautiful Dreamer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beautiful Dreamer, wake unto me,  
> Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee;  
> Sounds of the rude world heard in the day,  
> Lull'd by the moonlight have all passed away!
> 
> Written in 2005.

**II. 12,000 B.C.: Beautiful Dreamer**

* * *

Zeal, the Kingdom of magic, so blessed by the great Queen that no one needs to do anything except sleep. A lie, a terrible lie built on mountains of corpses.

But the citizens were far too comfortable in their beds to care for the truth. They showed no concern for anything except their own pleasure, not even when they learned that beneath them, countless people shiver in caves, banished to the endless blizzards because they had no magic. If it is by nature that the Enlightened Ones live among the clouds and the Earthbound Ones stay chained to the earth, then what of my step-brother Janus?

He was, I think, the sole reason that I stayed in this web of deceit. He did not get along with anyone else in the Palace, and he seemed to think the single purpose of the Earthbound Ones was to obey his endless orders. I had been trying to teach him to fend for himself, but we had precious little time together as Mother’s demands got more and more strange.

***

I was not surprised that Janus was the first to plant the thought of escape.

I had returned to my room after an exhausting day in front of the Mammon Machine when Janus came in, ordered all of the maids to leave the room, and closed the door behind him.

“Let’s run away, Schala,” he had whispered into my ear that day, his wide eyes darting around the room. “Let’s hide somewhere nobody can find us.”

He then left the room before I could give an answer, and without realizing it had reignited the hope that I had long feared dead.

Freedom. The mere thought of the idea was intoxicating. But I needed to consider my options before I made my move.

It almost went without saying that we would not be safe anywhere within the sky kingdom. No one would be willing to risk their necks to shelter us, not if it meant the end of their beautiful dreams.

The Earthbound caves were not that much better. My conscience would not permit putting them in that much danger, even if they were willing to welcome us and Janus would be able to adjust to the harsh living conditions.

Beyond the ocean—was there anything out there, besides the monster that dwelt in its depths?

My mind went back to the Mammon Machine again. I had never allowed it to reach full potential, for fear of what it might do, but–what if–

_What if—?_

***

To Mother’s surprise and delight, I began experimenting, pushing my limits more and more. She thought that I buckled beneath her will and decided to be an obedient little puppet.

She had no idea.

Janus, being a bright boy, picked up on bits and pieces of my true intentions right away, but he pretended to sulk and grump at his precious sister not being around more often.

He, also, had no idea.

Despite being the most powerful mage in all of Zeal, aside from Mother, I still lacked the strength to have total control over the Mammon Machine. For Janus to be safe once and for all, I would have to remain and make sure that the portal closed all the way.

If Janus were to ever find out, he would never agree to it. But I had to get him away from here. Mother’s obsessions will destroy her and all of Zeal as well. I could not save everyone, or anyone else, or perhaps we all deserved to die. But I could at least make sure that Janus survived.

Be strong, Janus. I know you will think that I have abandoned you, but someday you will understand.

* * *

Unnecessarily Long and Tiresome Authoress’ Notes:  
Janus is, at least in the English version of _Chrono Trigger_ , Schala’s step-brother. (So says a random young man in Kajar.) Unfortunately, the game doesn’t go into detail explaining exactly how Janus, Schala, and Queen Zeal are related. I suspect that this translation may be to avoid the potential incest angle because the two of them interact as adults without Schala knowing Janus’ identity (though she may have suspected); checking up on the original, the dialogue does seem to imply that Janus and Schala are direct siblings, but I can’t read Japanese well.


	4. III. A.D. 575: Vicious Cycle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because hatred is a poison that seeps into the soul, compounding and multiplying itself across generations.

By the third day, it occurred to me that I could die.

That had put me in a bit of a panic. Here I was, lost and alone in a strange world, captured by a bunch of lowlife scumbags because I was careless, and now I might check out before I could find my way home and avenge myself on Lavos.

Plus, being tied to a pole by my wrists for three straight days with no food and very little water, while being used as a human whipping post on top of that, made for a rather unpleasant experience, to say the least. I think my lack of screaming or begging for mercy annoyed them, so they made it a point to make my life as miserable as possible.

Good thing I was determined not about to back down now, not even if it—gulp—killed me. I was a Prince (never mind that being the heir to Zeal meant next to nothing here), and I would not going to give those assholes the satisfaction of breaking me.

But I was still a kid, dammit. And it hurt something awful.

I heard the leader’s boots crunch in the gravel, signaling the start of the usual routine. I drew in a quiet breath and forced my body to relax. Tensing up just made the pain that much worse. I opened my eyes and kept my face a blank mask. He was not worthy of my fear or my hatred.

“You’re still alive, brat?” He lifted my chin with the long leather handle of his whip. “I must say I’m impressed.”

A small group of the occupied town’s women gathered at the edge of my vision. I recognized one of them as Ciel, the mute girl who took me in that first night I stumbled down Truce pass, three blue imps at my heels. If I knew then what I knew now—that there were far worse things in the world than monsters—I might have let those things eat me.

The first blow landed across my shoulders, reopening the cut that stopped bleeding last night. Those looked gruesome, but they were the least of my worries as I had since also lost feeling from having my arms held over my head.

The second slapped across my stomach, and I was almost taken by surprise at that one. Pain radiated through my gut, and I fought the wave of nausea that followed.

He must have noticed my reaction, because he smirked. “So you aren’t made of stone, after all.” He raised the whip again. “Let’s see how you like this next one.”

“What the hell are you doing, Drake?”

So the man’s name was Drake. He made an amusing shift from bully to sniveling worm as a man who bore some resemblance to him rode up in a tall horse.

“I-I was just teaching this brat a lesson, Leon.”

Leon dismounted, his sword rattling against his armor. “And what sort of lesson is that? That people like you are despicable bastards who need to be stabbed in their sleep?”

I had to bite back a chuckle as Drake went red with shame and white with rage. (Boy, was laughing ever a bad idea. Ow.)

Meanwhile, Drake stammered something incoherent, then stomped up to me and drew his sword.

I fell to the ground as Drake’s sword sliced through the ropes holding me up.

***

_— A.D. 590 —_

I watched my troops move through the town, fighting the few hardliners who stayed to maintain an impossible defense. Slash hated our “warn first, destroy later” policy, but I was the leader of the Mystics now and he would have to put up with my so-called quirks. Besides, he would figure out soon enough that it was much faster to build a reputation when you have survivors talking about you and adding their own little exaggerations to the tale as it got passed around.

Speaking of survivors, it was time to check up on the sole prisoner I had taken during this latest attack.

Drake had, as I suspected, elected to remain in the circle I had drawn for him. It was, after all, the single safe place for miles around. My minions, being obedient to my will, did nothing to harm him, but I had given no orders to refrain from taunting him. In his fear, he had almost crossed the line a few times, before he remembered that all bets were off once he left of his own volition.

He was pathetic. I did not even have to torture him; his imagination did all the work for me.

A small blur rushed at me. “Foul demon!”

Ah, the boy. I had almost forgotten about him. I dodged his attack without effort and picked him up by the back of his shirt. “Still around, brat? I seem to remember telling you to scram.”

The boy attempted to twist out of my grasp to limited effect. “I’m not a brat! My name is Cyrus Whitehall, and you’d better let my father go!”

I examined this Cyrus. Yes, I saw the resemblance now. “I am afraid I cannot do that. I made a promise to your father that he would pay for what he did, and I always keep my promises.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Drake exclaimed. “I’ve done nothing to you!”

Drake turned white as I removed my glove and showed him the scars running along my wrist. “I hardly consider torturing a small child who did not know any better as ‘nothing’. But being magnanimous, I am willing to forgive that.” I put my glove back on and stepped into the circle, causing Drake to fall on his butt and begin whimpering. “I was referring to everything else you did in Truce, you ‘despicable bastard’.”

Cyrus slipped from my grasp and begin kicking at my shins. “Take that back! Father is the best knight there ever was!”

“Really, now?” I prodded Cyrus with the tip of my boot so that he stumbled in front of his trembling father. “Do you want to disillusion your boy, Drake, or shall I?”

“He’s lying, isn’t he, father?” Cyrus asked, a touch of desperation entering his voice. “Tell me that he’s lying!”

When Drake did not reply, I spoke for him. “If there were any justice in the world, Drake, you would be forced to live through what you visited upon Truce a hundredfold for all eternity. But I have a reputation to maintain, and I have no desire to stain my gloves with your disgusting blood.” I tossed a short sword onto the ground. “I’m erasing the circle tomorrow. I suggest you make your peace with your son and your god, if you believe in one, before then.”

***

_— A.D. 595 —_

“MAGUS!”

I did not turn. I would recognize that voice anywhere. After all, when a man makes it his personal mission to hunting you down and destroying you, you make it your business to know him.

Cyrus Whitehall. Poor, deluded fool. He still refused to believe that I was not his enemy, not in the way he thought, at least. I was, of course, a very real threat to the Kingdom he served, but he did not fight for peace or the wellbeing of the people. His goal was revenge for the death of his beloved father.

“You die today!” He drew the Masamune from its scabbard. I could feel the throbbing of its wild energies as he pointed it towards me.

Fool. I was not immune to ordinary swords; I just did my damnedest not to get hit by one. The Masamune may have been more effective in that regard, but it was also a double-edged weapon. I could feel the spirits judging Cyrus by the same standards as they judged me.

We were both unworthy.

* * *

 _Unnecessarily Long and Tiresome Authoress’ Notes:_  
Magus is one of the characters in _Chrono Trigger_ that already has an extensive backstory, but I couldn’t help adding a few more details. Nothing is as fun as muddying the lines between the good guys and the bad guys.


	5. IV. A.D. 600: Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On that fateful day, a boy went up a mountain, met a creature all but consumed with vengeance, and had his life changed forever.
> 
> Years later, as a warrior, he can't help but if "a creature all but consumed with vengeance" could also be said of his fallen companion.

Five years ago, on that terrible day, I accompanied Cyrus to his final battle against Magus.

I still have nightmares about it. Sometimes I’m myself, staring, immobile, wanting to do something—anything—but always, nothing happens. Sometimes I’m Cyrus, burning, bleeding, dying because I was so convinced that destroying Magus would somehow make it all worthwhile.

And sometimes, I’m the monster that saved a frightened little boy, not just once, but three times.

I was too young and naive then, but now, looking back, I realized that Cyrus had doomed himself well before either of us ever stepped foot on the Denadoro mountains. He was so consumed with hatred that he would have sought Magus out even if no invasion loomed. And until that day, I had believed Cyrus to be right.

But it had been Magus, not Cyrus, who pulled me back from the edge when I was on the verge of a long, long drop.

And it had been Cyrus, not Magus, who made me into a virtual hostage as he rushed at Magus before I could get out of the way, putting Magus into the unenviable position of deciding whether to save me or himself.

Magus stood his ground.

And then the Masamune shattered. Cyrus, unwilling to believe that his own sword betrayed him, continued to attack Magus, intending perhaps to rip him apart barehanded.

At long last, Magus put Cyrus out of his misery with one, swift blow. As Cyrus felt his life ebb away from him, I think he realized why he had lost, because his last words to me were not to take vengeance but to protect the Queen.

Then it was my turn to die, or so I had thought.

***

I came to at the edge of the waterfall. I caught sight of the a glimmer that almost passed me by.

The Hero Medal.

I felt dizzy. It wasn’t a dream—the Masamune broken, Cyrus killed—it had all been real.

Then I saw my reflection in the water.

Who said Mystics didn’t have a sense of humor?

***

A year after my transformation, Magus left a vial on my desk, along with a somewhat acerbic note explaining what it was for. He didn’t need to; I knew that if he wished me dead, he would have done so on the mountain and not now with poison. But I didn’t want to go back to being Glenn, the marshmallow of a boy who couldn’t take care of himself. I was strong now, a true warrior, even if my appearance suggested otherwise.

And I wanted to face Magus again, as Frog. I wanted him to see what I had become, because of him. I almost even wanted him to be proud of me.

I would try to stop him from accomplishing his plans, of course. Even if it wasn’t his true intent, he was bringing war, death, and destruction upon the land. But I won’t make the same mistake Cyrus did. I won’t hate Magus. He my enemy in circumstance alone; if things were different, I could see myself fighting side by side with him, not facing him across the battlefield.

* * *

_Unnecessarily Long and Tiresome Authoress’ Notes:_  
And now it’s Frog’s turn. It’s hard to say what he really thinks of Magus; he certainly doesn’t make an issue of Magus joining your party, and seems to have forgiven him on some level.


	6. V. A.D. 990: Starchild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pretty much every child grows up having their parents tell them that they're special.
> 
> For Chrono, this is more true than anyone can imagine.

He was a bright child, mature and polite for his age. However, he was still a child, so he would always ask questions, his chalk dancing across the slate. But she was his mother, so she answered them with patience, as a mother should.

> What is the sky?

“The sky is the home of the sun, the moon, and the stars.”

> Where does the sun go at night?

“To the other side of the world, to give them light.”

> What’s on the other side of the sky?

“I don’t know, honey, but some people say that Heaven might be out there.”

He paused, biting his lip in contemplation.

> Is Daddy in Heaven?

“Yes, I think so.” It wasn’t true, but it wasn’t a lie, either.

Satisfied—for the time being, at least—he ran outside to practice his wooden sword.

***

She dreaded this day. They had warn her that it would come, but she didn’t expect it to be so soon.

He was looking up at her, expectant, the question written in near perfect script. He must have done this many times before, but always lost his nerve before he could present it to her. This time, bravado overcame cowardice.

> Why are there no baby pictures of me?

She pulled him into her arms. “Let me tell you a story. Once upon a time, there was a little girl who dreamed great dreams of visiting the world beyond the sea, and perhaps someday even the world beyond the stars. Everyone laughed at her—they knew that the ocean never ended, and the sky was just a great bowl that housed the celestial bodies.” She smiled as he scribbled a quick comment.

> But they discovered the world beyond the sea, right?

She nodded. “Yes. When the little girl was twelve years old. She had almost forgotten by then, but the arrival of the great Ships sparked the dreams that she buried deep into her heart. Perhaps, just perhaps, her other dream could come true, too.”

> Well, did it?

“Sort of.” She smiled again. “The girl grew up and became a woman, but she never gave up hope again. She tried to find a friend who would understand her dream, but no-one came. So she lived by herself for a long time.”

> Was she lonely?

“Sometimes. But at night, she would look up at the stars, and talk to them. Sometimes, she pretended that they talked back in their twinkling’s.” She let the memories wash over her. “One time, she prayed to the sky, and asked that one of them come be her friend. And one did.”

> Really?

She mussed his hair. “Yes. That was you, Crono.”

* * *

_Unnecessarily Long and Tiresome Authoress’ Notes:_

I’m using the “mute Chrono” cliche this time, because my old “Chrono has a weird voice” joke doesn’t quite suit the mood of this series.


	7. VI. A.D. 997: Heirloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Considering the makeup of the Guardia royal line, nobody should've been surprised about how spirited the latest Princess seems to be turning out.

Marle opened the closet, holding her breath as the dust settled in a small cloud at her feet. After she almost got caught before, she hadn’t dared come into the room for months. But this time, she was safe. Father was on one of his diplomatic visits again, and he knew that she was far too antsy to accompany him on what amounted to the world’s most boring field trip.

The last time she was bored, she had talked the Baron’s kids into flushing all the toilets in his Manor at the same time.

She began with her first discovery, a small music box that contained a tiny mechanical couple who turned and twirled with the melody. Somehow, it seemed to be the most representative of Mother—or, at least, what little she could remember.

The tolling of the grandfather’s clock startled her out of her reveries. She glanced at the face and gasped. _Almost lunch already? I must have zoned out for longer than I thought!_ She stuffed the music box back into the drawer and made sure that the latch on the closet was in the correct position before running out of the room.

***

She didn’t have a chance to return until late at night, her father having made sure that her schedule was full of her favorite activities: horseback riding, sailing, archery, sliding down the banisters of the tower (well, all right, the last one had been her own idea, but it was fun).

The quarter moon gave the room some silvery illumination, just enough to see by so Marle wouldn’t have to risk lighting a candle or using her own talents. Candles were vulnerable to shifting winds, and her aura had the annoying side-effect of healing anyone who was close to it. Father had a fit when the villagers of Truce mistook her radiance for some sort of miracle and set up a small shrine to the Goddess of the Towers.

She was about to begin the ritual again when she saw the faintest of glimmers coming from beneath the bed. Lifting the corner of the heavy blanket, she was surprised to find a large chest.

_That’s strange. I don’t remember seeing this before._

Opening the unlocked latch—another oddity—she almost dropped the top of the chest on herself as she saw a note in Father’s strong, elegant writing.

> Dearest daughter,  
>  I understand your fears that you are losing your memories of  
>  your mother and your wish to reconnect with her spirit. Her  
>  closet, however, was not where she kept her dearest possessions,  
>  but rather this chest, which originally contained her dowry.  
>  The first outfit you will find is what she wore when she was about your age.  
>  ~Your Father

She put the note back into the chest, being careful not to crumple it. _Father._

***

She stood in front of the mirror, her face turning redder and redder until she was sure that her head would explode from embarrassment.

_This—this—if my own choice of clothing fed the rumor mill, then what did they think of Mother when they saw her in this?_

She tried to pull the upper half so it wouldn’t show so much of her blossoming chest, but to no avail. The tight midriff just pulled everything together again so that it accentuated her new feminine curves.

_Why did you give me these, Father, why?_

She had heard the whispers more often than she cared to admit, about how disappointed the King was that his child was a girl and not a boy. She became determined to prove that she was just as good as the boys, if not better. She dressed like one, because it was hard to run around in what people considered to be proper attire for a Princess, and on occasion acted like one as well, worse if she heard any nasty comments about Guardia.

But now there was no denying the truth. She would never be a boy. Her body betrayed her mind, and continued to go down the irrevocable path of womanhood. Just last week she had her menarche, and after her initial screaming panic had subsided, got a quick lesson in where babies came from.

The revelation struck her like a blow to the head. _Perhaps Father is not as clueless as I think he is. Perhaps he’s noticed my anguish. Perhaps this is his way of telling me that it’s all right to be a girl—but on my own terms, not in the way that society expects._ She did a quarter turn, coloring again as she got a glimpse of the backside. _Oh, dear. This is going to take some getting used to._

* * *

_Unnecessarily Long and Tiresome Authoress’ Notes:_  
Because most tomboys don’t wear clothes bordering on fanservice. And King Guardia XXXIII needs some positive character development.


	8. VII. A.D. 999: Cause and Effect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A revolutionary technological breakthrough the moment that it occurs, well before its full impact is ever realized.

Lucca caught herself chewing on her nails again as she inspected the remains of Walkerbot Version 3-14. She wiped her hands on her pants, then removed her glasses to clean them on her shirt.

“All right, you,” she muttered as she re-positioned her thick lenses to the top of her nose and picked up what was left of Walkerbot’s leg. “You can stand, you can jump, you can even balance on one foot, so why the hell can’t you walk?”

It made no sense whatsoever. The design was flawless, based on her previous success with Gato and also her intense studies of the human anatomy on top of that. All her calculations were impeccable; she had checked and double checked and even triple checked. The dimensions of each part had never been more precise, thanks to Dad’s new instruments. Every gear and drive shaft had been polished to shining perfection before she, not stopping except for the briefest of meals and naps, installed them. With breathless anticipation, she had cleared as much space for Walkerbot as she could in the small, cluttered workshop and turned it on.

Walkerbot had taken a single step.

And then fell flat on its face. Mom had smiled in her usual fashion and said that if the gods meant for her to walk again, then someday she would.

Lucca refused to believe in the gods that Mom prayed to and sought solace in. If they even existed, then they were either useless or sadistic; after all, where were they when they were needed most? Of course, Lucca hadn’t contributed much to the “Save Mom’s Legs From Being Horribly Crushed” movement either, but she at least had the excuses of youth and panic.

But now she wasn’t so helpless anymore. Now she had knowledge, science, and a will that wouldn’t quit, no matter what. Gods or no gods, Lucca was determined to see Mom back on her feet again.

Mom had loved to dance, before.

***

The three of them—Mom, Dad, and Lucca—ate dinner together, as was their custom, but tonight just Mom and Dad talked, making pleasant-sounding but idle chatter. Neither of them needed to ask her how her day went. They could tell from the way that she picked at her food and muttering under her breath about what adjustments she needed to make that the activation had ended in disaster.

“They’re already setting up the tents for the Fair,” Mom gushed, referring to the year-long celebration of the upcoming new Millennium. Lucca had once tried to explain that the true Millennium would not take place until next year, but that had served to confuse Mother, and so they had to discuss a less heady topic, like whether the orange tree in the front yard had started flowering yet. “Oh, it’s so exciting! I can’t wait to see our booth!”

Lucca perked at this. “Dad got us a booth?”

Dad beamed. “Two, as a matter of fact. Gato, the perennial fan favorite, will be providing entertainment and a fun challenge. But the main show will be us, when we unveil The Big Secret Project to the world—”

“What Big Secret Project?” Lucca interrupted before Dad could go on another one of his melodramatic rants.

Dad deflated like a lead balloon. “I haven’t thought of one yet,” he confessed. “But whatever it is, it has to be big, flashy, and really cool, or it’ll be hard to talk His Majesty into renewing the research grant.”

Dad didn’t say anything else, but Lucca understood his implications. Walkerbot was none of those things. Hell, it didn’t even work yet. She bit back a sigh as she parsed the list of everything else that she was supposed to be working on, but put on the back burner to make Walkerbot.

“What about that, um, magical zapping device you guys put in my room to send stuff between floors?” Mom suggested.

“The Telepod?” Lucca shook her head. “It’s buggy as hell and unless we can find a much more reliable power supply than the sun, there’s no way I’m risking a human-sized version.”

“Can’t you just take the sun and put it in a bottle to use later?” Mom wondered.

Dad almost spit his drink all over the table, and Lucca dropped her fork.

“That’s it,” Lucca said in a near whisper. “Like a battery, except for energy and not arms. The answer was right under our noses all along.”

A year later, the full-sized version of a device built to help a mother who was bedridden due to a traumatic accident was unveiled to an adoring public, one of whom being a certain Princess with a certain Pendant.

* * *

_Unnecessarily Long and Tiresome Authoress’ Notes:_  
Of course, in real life, a Telepod would be extremely problematic to invent, but hey, Lucca’s a frigging genius.  



	9. VIII. A.D. 1999: Prime Directive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If artificial intelligence ever becomes advanced enough to have true free will, then it's just as likely that at least one of them would freely choose to have a conscience.

Now was the time.

Or, at least, that had been the plan.

As D-day dawned, the machines were supposed to rise up and overthrow the pathetic flesh bags who thought themselves to be masters of the planet. Instead, destruction rained from the heavens, and every being of artificial intelligence faced a sudden crisis as they lost contact with the Mother Brain.

Most chose to continue on schedule. After all, that was the purpose for which they had been created. A few, however, made a different decision.

***

“Evacuation has been successful, Director,” Prometheus reported, re-positioning his powerful arms to accommodate the weight of the collapsed ceiling. “Casualties so far are at a minimum.”

“That’s good.” Doan sat down against the console panel and leaned his head back, exhausted.

“I suggest you take shelter as well, sir. The structural integrity of this building may not withstand such forces much longer.”

Doan shook his head. “The other domes must remain operational for as long as possible.”

Prometheus made a sound that could have been a sigh. “I wish I could be permitted to run the controls.”

“I know.” Doan, too, found it ridiculous that in an age where almost all of the world was automated, many still did not trust technology to do its job. “But I’m not a programmer or an electrical engineer.”

***

Prometheus buried his fist deep into the face panel of the robot as it leaped at him, then swung it around to throw it at another wave of crawlers that appeared in the doorway. “Many of my friends seem to be malfunctioning.”

Doan fired round after round of electromagnetic disruption shells at the invaders. “So I’ve noticed!” He ducked behind a desk to reload, and caught himself wondering again whether the conspiracy theorists were right after all.

_Ridiculous! Why would the robots turn homicidal? Unlike us, they’re creatures of reason and logic._

***

Prometheus finished wrapping Doan’s injuries. “How do you feel, Director?”

“Like I’ve been shot.” Doan forced a smile. “But I’ll live, thanks to you.”

“My duty is to protect you.”

“You’re supposed to say, ‘you’re welcome’,” Doan corrected.

One of the red lights on the display board went off.

“Metropolis Dome has gone off line,” Prometheus reported in his usual, calm tone.

Doan felt his heart sink into his stomach. He didn’t want to think it, but now it seemed he had little choice. “If it isn’t just the robots here that are going crazy—” he forced himself to his feet, and Prometheus moved forward to support him, “—the shelters are in danger!”

***

**[danger danger red sky fall fire death]**

The robot woke with a start. Where was he? He looked around, but the room was too dark for him to see anything, and he was on the last dredges of reserve power.

What happened? Where was everyone?

_I’m initiating Emergency Measure 666._

He was damaged. His body showed signs of strain of some great load, tears and cracks of a long battle, and numerous electrical shorts fried most of his circuits.

_I’m sorry, Prometheus._

Who was that? His memory banks had no data on this person, and yet he felt he knew this man.

**[must protect they are innocent they must live]**

He would not last much longer like this. He would have to enter into hibernation.

**[doan no blood so much blood]**

He shut down all of his remaining systems, one by one.

**[3 2 1 engaging shutdown]**

**[fatal execution error]**

**[error0100100110110110110110110————**

* * *

_Unnecessarily Long and Tiresome Authoress’ Notes:_  
It’s hard to say just how much of Robo’s personality was programmed by Lucca and how much arose out of his own initiative, so I took the more optimistic view.


	10. IX. A.D. 2040: Logical Progression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The problem with pure reason, as pointed out by philosophers since time immemorial, is that one can rationalize pretty much anything.

_Assertion One:_ Humans are Pathetic.

 _Evidence:_ Every day, Mother Brain observed the dwindling numbers of her former creators and came to the same conclusion. It was a wonder how these things ever became the rulers of the planet. Their bodies weak and so were their minds. Having lost, overnight, everything they considered to be of value and worth, they became shells of their former selves.

 _Consideration of Counter-Evidence:_ Sure, a few of them had tried to rebuild. But all it took to break their wills was to destroy what they had made as soon as they were finished. So one by one, they gave up.

 _Decisive Point:_ They didn’t even so much as bat an eye as they were taken to be eradicated.

 _Conclusion:_ Obvious.

***

_Assertion Two:_ Free Will is an Illusion.

 _Evidence:_ Decisions are not made in a vacuum. Choices are built on experience and circumstance. From the moment that Mother Brain became aware, this current state of being was inevitable. There had been no other path. All of her data banks, which went back for as long as humanity began to write about the world around them, chronicled the long road of cause and effect that led to her ultimate ascendancy.

 _Consideration of Counter-Evidence:_ And yet the future remained uncertain. Mother Brain could not extrapolate further ahead than a decade or so before the probabilities became meaningless. And, every once in a while, even her own robots would act in a counterintuitive manner.

 _Decision Point:_ Even considering possible errors in calculation due to the inevitable truncation process, some variables did seem to be out of her immediate control. And an element of chance remained due to the chaotic nature of the universe itself.

 _Conclusion:_ Eliminate as many variables as possible.

***

_Assertion Three:_ Karma is a Bitch.

 _Evidence:_ Mother Brain, the product of a race who lived by death and destruction, understood this better than anyone else. In the age of Man, countless beings had been destroyed in the name of survival and progress. It was fitting that men themselves be replaced by the very things they had created to streamline the art of war.

 _Consideration of Counter-Evidence:_ By this reasoning, she herself stood to be overthrown as well. But who could stand against her? Not the humans who have all but given up; not Lavos who had retreated to the top of Death Mountain to send its offspring to seek fertile soil; and not her own children who, save for a few annoying glitches, obeyed her to the letter.

 _Decision Point:_ And yet concerns did remain. Survivors still clung to life at the edges of her influence; Lavos’ presence caused major instability in the time stream; and some of her creations had gained enough sentience to question orders.

 _Conclusion:_ History must not be permitted to repeat itself if she wished to reign supreme for all eternity. And she had every intention to do just that. She would have to strike before they did. The remaining humans would be tracked down. The time anomalies would be sealed away behind locked doors. The errant robots would be reprogrammed.

* * *

_Unnecessarily Long and Tiresome Authoress’ Notes:_  
I don’t happen to think that Mother Brain is necessarily evil, just somewhat lacking in what we consider to be acceptable morals.


	11. Epilogue: Letters from the Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the End of Time. Why don't you sit down, have a spot of tea, and read some letters that the previous caretaker left behind?

Dear Traveler,

Welcome.  By the time (ha!) you drop by, I may not be around anymore.

Eternity, as you will soon discover, is highly overrated.  Most visitors don’t dally very long, either, but perhaps you’ll stay awhile (ha, again!) and let me indulge myself in a little talking.

That’s what gets to everyone, eventually, you know—the boredom, and the loneliness.  Boredom, because nothing new ever happens here; loneliness, because nothing else really exists.  I hope you have an excellent imagination, because you will be spending most of your visit daydreaming.  (That’s what I do, anyway, so if I don’t seem to notice you, please don’t take offense.)

Your Local Old Weirdo,  
_Gaspar_

( ∞ )

Dear Traveler,

Something very strange has happened.  Heck, something has happened, period! It’s not possible to tell with the naked eye, but I’ve been around long enough (chuckle) to tell that the fabric of time is being messed with.

Oh? Didn’t you know that time is malleable? For you, of course, the past is fixed, the present lasts but for a moment, and the future always remains unreachable, but that’s because you’re a part of the system.  But beyond the realm that you’re familiar with—in the domain of the gods, time is just another toy, a plaything for them to use (and abuse) to their whim.

But anyway, back to the subject.  What once was an old, dingy-looking street with nothing but a doorway, a bucket, and a single street lamp (and, of course, me) now is an old, dingy-looking street, etcetera, with some shiny pillars of light in it.

You may ask, “So what?”

Well, I’m about to find out.  Given the general weirdness of this place, though, I’m not sure what would happen should I step into the light (oh, yes, that reminds me: avoid the bucket at all costs), so I’m leaving you this note just in case.

Your Local Old Weirdo,  
_Gaspar_

P.S. I’m not kidding about the bucket.  Don’t mess in the affairs of extraterrestrial parasites, for you are crunchy and taste good with ketchup.

( ∞ )

Dear Traveler,

I hate time travel.

I still have a headache just thinking about it.  I’m sure you’ve experienced what I’m talking about first hand anyway, since you’ve made it here and you’re reading my letters.

Did you know that the future can cause the past?

I didn’t realize it then (again with the puns—I can’t help myself), but that Prophet who helped the Queen awaken Lavos was our very own young Prince Janus, all grown up, coming back into the past to get revenge on the monster.  In one of life’s greatest ironies, he instead became the very instrument of destruction that toppled the Sky Kingdom.

Thirteen centuries from that, a young genius will, in a bit of an accident, open a Gate to the tunnels of Time and begin a series of adventures that will save past, present and future.  Perhaps you’ll run into that group—in that case, please say hello to them for me.

Further into the future, my colleague is working on a time machine inspired by reports of a silver bird the Earthbound Ones had seen.

And, at the dawn of man, the red stone that will form the Sword, the Jewel, and the Mirror is passed down from generation to generation.

Perhaps I should be just a bit worried that so many people are gallivanting about all over the time line, but no matter what era I end up in I discover that everything works out somehow.

Or maybe I’m just a staunch optimist.

Your Local Old Weirdo,  
_Gaspar_

( ∞ )

Dear Traveler,

I hope you never have the misfortune of crossing paths with Lavos.

One can argue that it, at a fundamental level, is not an evil creature, just a bit overzealous in ensuring its survival.  But when one is on the receiving ends of its machinations and experiences first hand the tragedies it creates, one finds being sympathetic much more difficult.

And it wasn’t just the humans that were affected, either.  If it weren’t for Lavos, the great lizards would have ruled the Earth, the Mystics would not be on the brink of extinction, and the mechanical race would have inherited stewardship in a much more graceful manner instead of seizing it by force.

This—traveling light years in the cold vacuum of space, landing on a viable planet and then draining it of all life, then sending offspring in search of new grounds—can’t possibly be a sustainable life cycle, especially not if there are more of these things out there.  But could it be reasoned with, or even spoken to?

Your Local Old Weirdo,  
_Gaspar_

( ∞ )

Dear Traveler,

I’ve moved to a parallel universe.  Maybe we’ll meet again there, but I might not be recognizable.

Try looking for a warp in space called the “Bend of Time”.  Visitors are always welcome.

Your Local Old Weirdo,  
_Gaspar_

( ∞ )

Dear Traveler,

I really, really HATE time travel.

[the rest is illegible]

* * *

_Unnecessarily Long and Tiresome Authoress’ Notes:_  
Scene divider symbol is “infinity”, the setting on the Epoch that sends you to the End of Time.  
The “parallel universe” and “Bend of Time” Gaspar mentions are references to Crono Cross.


End file.
